I Tried to Try
by Twili-Magician
Summary: Lying on his deathbed, Zhao ponders the choices he has made, as well as his very influence over life and death. Is his father finally proud of him? What awaits him on the other side?  Oneshot!


**Hello there! This is the first DW fanfic I've decided to write, to see what kind of reception I get for it! **

**Please, for the love of Zhongda, read and review! **

_I do not own romance of the three kingdoms, its historical aspects, or the Koei game Dynasty warriors_

"_Zhao, you're lazy. You need to get up and actually do something!" _

"_Zhao, do you have no shame? As old as you are and here you are, still being taken care of by your father."_

"_There will be a day when I'm no longer here, Zhao, and when that day comes, are you going to count on Shi to look after you?"_

I ….guess I did...

I didn't know how to...

"_Zhao, my brother, when will you actually start trying?"_

I did try...at least...I _tried_ to try.

"_Wounded...by Wei's hatred...my wound has been further gouged by their tenacity..."_

"_Benevolence? You imbecile! Who wants to live in a world based on flimsy, idealistic garbage?"_

I..._I_ do...

So many terrible thoughts had been plaguing Sima Zhao's mind, bringing nothing but displeasure to his heart and nothing short of a frown to his face.

But after all that had happened, could he really blame himself for allowing his mind to slip into this depression? Everything they said had been right, in the long run. Sure, he had managed to bring Shu to their knees, but for what? Had he just been chasing his father's _own _ideals?

"Maybe...I am that much of a disappointment..." He murmured to himself, the old strategist's eyes moving down to the sheets of his bed. It was disgusting, having to stay here to wait out his own demise. He didn't even have anyone to wait beside him...

The King of Jin had fallen ill at the last moment, just as he was about to reach out to Wu. So many things would be left undone...it pained him to think about a future without him- a future without someone to finally stick up for the underdog.

"Father would say I was too soft..." He muttered with a slightly cheesy grin, a slight pain stinging in his left lung. The Sima reached up to scratch his chin, the scraggly bits of stubble irritating the skin on his fingers. Slowly, he brought them down into his view.

_These hands..._

It was true, those rough, calloused hands had caused the deaths of countless enemy officers, and even a few of his own...Zhong Hui... Zhuge Dan...it was all such a waste...

Though, hadn't he been the one to cause Zhuge Dan to defect in the first place? He'd been lazy, even cruel enough to allow the man to ride off into battle alone, without so much as lifting a finger even when _he_ had been attacked...allowing his own wife, his beloved Yuanji, to be put in danger.

She would be laughing at me now, thought the old strategist, a smile once more gracing his lips. For once, at a time it didn't matter at all, he was being serious, thinking over his decisions of the past. She would have punched him in the shoulder, and he would have given the smallest of joyful complaints.

_But I'm not the last one_...

No, he still had his son, Sima Yan who would take the throne. Though in truth...it scared Zhao to even think about placing something as precious as his father's and brother's memento into such hands.

He had seen Yan many times, looking as peaceful as ever, seeming to be simply enjoying the conversation or scenery...but behind those peaceful eyes he could see the same darkness that had rested within his father; almost as if a demon were begging to be unleashed upon the land. His brother had it too...but his ambition to create peace for his daughters seemed to sheath that darkness.

"Sometimes...I wonder if I'm really a Sima." Zhao said softly, leaning forward for a moment, his fingers weaving into his hair. "I don't remember a time I had ever wanted so badly to kill somebody...just because they weren't as smart as me."

_Zhao, what a silly question! Of course you're his son, you look just like him! _

The memory of his mother's voice put a smile on his face even to this day. He missed her...the food she would make was delicious, and would bring everyone running to the table; even Sima Yi. She was such a sweet woman, but still...even she seemed to have a certain darkness in her as well. She'd killed such an innocent woman once, over something that she _may _have seen...but that was to protect his father, wasn't it?

He could hear her even now, scolding him for questioning his origins. She would always be the one to tell him how smart he was; how great his talents were. His father only rubbed him into the mud.

"Zhao, of course you look like us..." Zhang Chunhua would greet him with a smile even if he had never once left a room. Her fingers would be covered with past and white crumbs from working with dough or flour. "You and your brother both look so much like your father- sometimes I wonder if _I_ was really your mother." She would tease, flipping a stray bit of hair back behind her ears.

"But mother..." He'd said, moving toward the counter at an alarming rate, "Father and Brother killed many people...they took their lives right from them!" He said, an almost alarmed look on his face. "You..you said! You said that no one- _no one _has the right to take the life of another!"

Chunhua had paused her movements, her eyes resting gently on the rising dough in front of her. It had been such a long time since she'd heard those words repeated, living in a house full of killers...even _she _had killed someone.

With a small sigh, Chunhua had turned to look at her son with a smile, her arms opening in an outstretched manner. She could feel her eyes glistening with her own hypocrisy.

Zhao, at first, was confused from his mother's actions, but did not disappoint her. After hesitantly taking a few strides forward, her arms engulfed him in a fond embrace, squeezing him to her small, weak frame. Even she was getting old...

"Zhao..." She said softly, "...You are so much like your father...and yet you don't even realize it." Reaching up, his mother places her fingers gently against his cheekbones. "You're right...I did say that." She agreed, a single tear riding its way down the creases of her face like a railroad. "...But you know...your father never killed anyone just because he _wanted_ to."

Zhao almost pulled away, giving his mother a confused, somewhat awkward look. It was a statement he got often- that he and his brother combined would most definitely make something akin to what his father looked like but...comparing him to Zhongda seemed almost like a crime.

"No, no, Zhao let me finish." Chunhua chuckled, letting her hands slowly drop onto his shoulders, her old bones popping into place once more. "...Your father only killed people...to make the world better..." She trailed off for a moment. "He probably seemed cold to you...but when you were young, you rarely did get to see him..." She said softly, turning back toward the wooden block that served as counter space.

Zhao's mind was once again thrown into a defensive state, misunderstanding pooling in his eyes. How could what he have done made the world any better? Sure, he had been _forced_ into working for Lord Cao Cao, but even still he continued to work for his son as well! Only recently had he even bothered to dethrone Cao Shuang...

_But that was because he was..._

"Your father was so proud of you..." Chunhua's voice had once again snapped him back to the world of the living, causing him to look at her in an almost animalistic way. "...He couldn't stop talking about you...how smart you were getting...and strong too..." She turned back to look at him, her lips turning into a broad, friendly grin.

"Proud of me? No!" He shook his head in disbelief, "Father and Brother were always towering their achievements over my head- always making me reach for higher ground but never truly pulling me up! Father never recognized my achievements unless my sweat, blood and tears were pooled into whatever I had done!" He nearly shouted, his fists shaking in anxiety. How could his mother have said such a thing? She'd been there for the whole thing- she'd even been mistreated by his father on several occasions!

"Zhao...he only pushed you...so that you _would_ reach higher...he was always proud of you." She said quietly. "Zhongda would smile on the inside, but scowl and criticize you to make you want to prove yourself even more...to reach up for the stars..." Zhang Chunhua moved to his side once more, her old, crippled hands taking his massive one in a gentle envelope. "Even now...he lives in you..."

Zhao's eyes nearly doubled in size...so...his father had...He shook his head; suddenly everything was beginning to make sense. The years of torment that had been piled onto his shoulders almost seemed to melt away. "...So Father...did those things to help me?" He asked, feeling almost, in a way, relieved to hear his mother's words.

The old mother nodded, releasing his son's hand to walk to the stove, fanning the fire beneath it a bit. "That's right...your father was so proud before he died...even then, he gathered myself and Lady Fu around his bed and spoke the sweetest words about you and your brother." Chunhua began to reach inside of the stove, seemingly reaching for some sort of pan before she stopped, pulling on a small pot-holder to stop what would have been a nasty burn.

Zhao stood in silence for several moments, his eyes slowly trailing over the food that was being prepared over the counter. He could feel his insides meshing together, his heart beating as strong as his mind was pounding. "...Mother...what did you mean when you said that he...lived in me?" He asked, his face taking on a curious sculpt.

A giggle erupted from his mother's mouth as she set a large, rectangular pan onto the counter-top, pulling the thick cloth from her fingers. "He's _in_ you Zhao, that's what I mean." She said. Sure, she'd had her hardships with the man, but that didn't make her love him any less. "Just as my father lives within me...and my grandfather...they're hearts and souls can be seen reflected in our very own- sometimes even within our eyes..." She said, grabbing down a few plates, "...you have your father's eyes."

Zhao was silent for several more minutes, starting to wring his fingers in thought. He really wasn't sure what his mother's words meant...if that was true, was Shi inside of him too? Uncle Lang? Uncle Fu? Surely that's what it meant...that all dead people somehow went _inside_ of you when they died.

_I was such a child then_

Sima Zhao chuckled to himself, looking out the window near his bed. It had seemed so silly to him then, to think of his own family members as some sort of ghosts hanging around his intestines like it was some sort of party. It had taken him some time after that to stop cursing his father for his stomach aches.

"Mother...I finally understand." He breathed, a sort of warmth covering him from head to toe. "...When someone dies, they never truly fade away...as long as that person meant something to you...they never really die." The strategist smiled, his fingers linking together to rest between his legs. "...Father and brother have been with me all along...watching me as I went along...and...maybe...just _maybe_...father was _proud_."

He laid back against the pillows the servants had set up for him, his head landing against the cool, soft, silk material. Even now, as he lay taking what would be his last breaths, he couldn't stop himself from making one final attempt at humor...

"I feel...like I should laugh or something..."

_Dammit...I don't want to die yet..._

_I have so much I have to do...I have to keep making him proud..._

…_.Yuanji...are you waiting for me?_

The darkness that had been inviting him to the other side of the veil was too enticing for him to betray any longer. He could feel his skin growing cold and dry, and his eyes seemed to slip into the back of his head...but strangely enough, he felt...happy.

He was happy, because even now, as he lay alone...he wasn't _truly_ alone. He had his family here...he had his mother, his brother...even his father...that knowledge alone was enough to send him to the other side.

He had often wondered in child-hood what it would be like after he died. Usually, it resulting in long, drawn-out conversational arguments between him and his brother. Sima Shi seemed to think that when you died, you just disappeared off into nothingness, and no one you had known would ever see you again...it depressed him.

Zhao, on the other hand, thought that there would be a pretty, fertile land that was waiting for him. A place that the eight immortals had set up for those who truly deserved it. A place with no killing and no stealing, where he could live in happiness and peace with his family...an _eden_. Even now though, he had his doubts...and he was afraid...he was afraid to re-open his eyes.

"Zhao, what on earth took you so long?"

_Heh..._

_Told you._


End file.
